“But what about Borys and Uncle Ivan?” I whispered.
“Neither was counted on the Germans’ lists, so they won’t be missed—” Suddenly Mama stood up and ripped off her apron. “But your sister! I sent her to look for stray eggs in the fields. She may not even know about this order. You need to finish this room for me. If Frau Hermann comes in, introduce yourself.”
She shoved the apron at me and left.
I stepped out of the servants’ door just as the clock in the square rang out the first of twelve chimes. It seemed that everyone in town, both original and newcomers, had crowded in to hear what the Commandant had to say. Even in this back alleyway it was hard to move with the crush of people.
I tried to press forward, but a large man stumbled backward and his boot landed on my big toe. I screamed.
“Sorry, girl,” said the man, grabbing my arm as I balanced on one foot. “You’re not going to have much luck getting through here.”
He was right. Everywhere I looked was a wall of people. The huge crowd gave us all some anonymity, though. Even if Mama couldn’t find Maria, perhaps she wouldn’t be missed.
I still needed to hear the announcement for myself, and I figured walking through the Tarnowsky house would get me closer to the front of the crowd than trying to push any farther through the alley. I hobbled back into the servants’ entrance, holding on to furniture and railings as I went. I had just placed my hand on the front-door handle when the clomping of boots sounded on the floor behind me. I did a hop-turn on one foot to see who it was.
Commandant Hermann.
“You’re the cleaner’s daughter, aren’t you?” he asked, his light brown eyebrows creasing into a frown.
“I am, Herr Commandant,” I said. “I was helping my mother today.”
“You should be outside with the others.”
“I am sorry, Herr Commandant,” I said, bowing slightly, still balancing on one foot and clutching the door handle for balance. “I was out in the alleyway but got pushed back in. And someone nearly crushed my toe. I’m going out the front door.”
He glanced down at my toe and then back at my face. “You can’t use the front door. Go upstairs. You can watch from the balcony.”
“Yes, Herr Commandant,” I said, bowing again. “Thank you, Herr Commandant.”
When I got to the big bedroom, I opened the latch on the double windows and stepped out onto the balcony. I could see the entire town square and all of the people heaving and pushing down below.
Maria was there, thank goodness! She and Nathan were at the opposite end of the square, their backs nearly pinned against the wall of the bakery. Mama and Auntie Iryna stood close by, in front of the New Synagogue, which shared a wall with the bakery. Above them, Petro Zhuk sat cross-legged on the flat roof of the New Synagogue. Close to Mama were Mr. Kitai and Doctor Mina, with Leon and Dolik.
It felt odd to be up here with everyone else across the square and on the ground. I wondered whether, centuries ago, old Princess Tarnowska would gaze down at her subjects from here.
Mr. Segal stood on the top step of our town hall, his camera pointed at a few soldiers who were directing the crowd to leave a wide-open space in the middle of the square. Mrs. Segal stood beside her husband, without her cane, taking pictures of civilians instead of soldiers. She turned her camera to me and clicked.
A couple of soldiers walked from the square towards me, clearing a path for the Commandant. One of them was the soldier who had helped us retrieve Josip’s body. The big double doors creaked open below me as Commandant Hermann stepped out. I peered over the balcony and saw the round top of his cap, and his shoulders with their SS epaulettes. He marched with the soldiers to the open space in the middle of the square.
The crowd was suddenly quiet.
“If you hear your name, you must come forward,” announced the Commandant.
A soldier handed him a sheet of paper.
I looked around the crowd and said a silent prayer: Please don’t call Mama’s name. Please don’t call Auntie Iryna’s.
“Samuel Steinburg,” the Commandant said, reading from the paper.
Our dogcatcher.
There were whispers in front of the synagogue, and then the crowd parted. Samuel Steinburg stepped farther into the square, wringing his leather cap.
“Aaron Bronsky.”
A skinny young man wearing a white apron over a white shirt and pants emerged from the cluster near the bakery and stood beside the dogcatcher.
“David Kohn… Zachary Goldblum…”
More names were called that I didn’t recognize, but I kept count of the number. One hundred had been called, all men of army age. It seemed to me that the names could all be Jewish.
“These hundred men standing before you are murderers!” said Commandant Hermann in a loud and clear voice.
There was a collective gasp from the crowd.
“These Jews are guilty of torturing, mutilating and killing the hundreds of men that we found in the prisons of Velicky Selo.”
That was not true! The Soviets had done the killing. Why would the Commandant say that?
“I sentence them to death,” said the Commandant, pacing.
A hum of whispers and shrieks punctured the air.
“Kill them!” shouted a man’s voice from the depths of the crowd. A woman that I didn’t know chimed in, “The Jews deserve to die. Let’s get them all.”
The Commandant stopped pacing. He looked out into the crowd, almost as if he expected more people to say awful things about Jews.
“Shut your drunken mouth!” yelled Petro Zhuk from the rooftop.
Silence.
Commandant Hermann scanned the crowd, as if trying to pinpoint where that shout had come from.
My mind was whirling. Those who had murdered our men were long gone back to Moscow. The hundred men now huddled in the square had suffered under the Soviets just as we all had.
The crowd was silent as Commandant Hermann paced. It was as if he were a match and we were his dry wood. But the crowd had not yet begun to burn.
Just then, I noticed some movement from across the square. Mr. Kitai had left Doctor Mina and Dolik and Leon and was pushing through to the edge of the crowd. “Commandant Hermann,” he said in a polite but firm voice, “those murders were an affront to us all, and we all thank you for trying to punish the culprits.”
A murmur of agreement rippled through some of the onlookers.
“But these men did not do it.”
“He’s right!” shouted a woman’s voice.
“It was the Soviet secret police — the NKVD — who killed and tortured those young men, but the murderers left before you got here,” Mr. Kitai went on. “If I may… Herr Commandant… my own father fought in the German army during the Great War. You saved us from the Russians then. We thank you for ousting the Soviets now.”
“And whom might you be?” asked the Commandant.
“Mr. Herschel Kitai at your service, Herr Commandant.” He bowed his head slightly.
“You are Jewish?” the Commandant asked.
“I am, Herr Commandant,” Mr. Kitai said in a clear and strong voice. “And like these men who have been gathered together, we admire German culture and democracy.”
I felt myself nodding in agreement.
“Stand with these murderers.”
I gasped.
Mr. Kitai stayed where he was for a long, silent moment. Then he took one deep breath and said, “I will stand with the others who have been unjustly accused.”
“Take them all,” Commandant Hermann ordered the soldiers.
“Please,” cried Dolik, pushing through the onlookers. “Don’t kill my father!”
It was as if the air had been sucked out of the square. The Commandant regarded Dolik. “You can die with him if you like, boy.”